Fic: LIbrary Geeks, 1,000 words, PG
Hee! This one is also in response to bethynyc's Watcherlove prompts from last week. One more to go, still. ::nods::
Prompt: Write an alternate universe version of the first time Giles and Wesley meet.
The Council's library was the largest Wesley had ever seen. He'd loved it from the moment he'd stepped into it when he was eight, but it couldn't hold his interest just then. He turned sixteen today and to celebrate the occasion his father had brought him to Council Headquarters and promptly forgotten about him. Only two hours had passed since he'd arrived, but it felt as if he'd been there for days.
Sitting in an alcove, Wesley stared at the books he'd tried to read; one after another after another had failed to interest him. He felt jittery, restless. Putting aside Jorcenio's treatise on rare demon breeds, Wesley stood and slumped off to look for something, anything, that might keep him occupied while he waited. He walked through shelves that stretched high above his head, breathing in the calming scent of dust and fragile pages.
He wandered away from the books and into the stacks where the Watcher diaries were kept. These were his favorites to read, filled with tales of other watchers, with stories about the Slayers they'd trained and commanded. It made Wesley feel part of something, part of something that stretched back into the past and would continue for forever.
His eyes on the books, Wesley stumbled to a halt when they fell away. He found himself in a research area, three long tables and many chairs taking up the space. All of the numerous chairs were empty, accept one. A man sat, hunched over a book. Wesley didn't think he'd ever seen the man before, which wasn't unusual. As often as he'd visited the library while his father tended to work that couldn't wait, Wesley usually kept to himself.
His father didn't approve of pointless socializing. Beyond that, most of the people Wesley's own age didn't hang around the Council Headquarters unless they were busy with their studies. This man was older than Wesley, late twenties or early thirties and he was the only other person Wesley had seen since coming into the library.
The man sighed, pushing his book away. Wesley watched as he removed his glasses and rubbed at his tried eyes, stretching his limbs. Catching sight of him, the man's green-brown eyes met Wesley's blue ones. He smiled kindly and Wesley felt a frisson of . . . something dart through his belly and skitter embarrassingly lower.
"Uh, hi," Wesley said weakly, feeling an utter git for not being more articulate, more . . . anything.
"Hello. Can I help you with something?" The man's voice reminded Wesley of warm things and Wesley's stomach fluttered. God, was he blushing? Stupid, stupid.
Trying to shrug off his reaction and gather his wits enough to say something clever, Wesley finally settled on 'No, but I could probably help you. I know this library well enough.'
Unfortunately, what came out of his mouth was, "No." The man raised an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently. He seemed to think Wesley expected something from him. "What are you reading?"
The man gave a snort of laughter and looked at his book. There was a small smile on his face when he looked back to Wesley. "The most boring account of the Garkinish Uprising that has ever been written."
Finally in territory he knew, Wesley's felt his tension ease a little. "Oh. Kelser?"
The man blinked in obvious surprise, his eyes widening and his smile growing a little. "Yes. Exactly. The man really doesn't know when to shut up."
Wesley ducked his head again, though it was pleasure that caused the reaction this time. "I read him last year," Wesley offered, moving to stand by the edge of the research table, fiddling with the other books stacked there. "His conclusions are clearly fallacious."
"Clearly. As well as long winded and dry as old toast." The man replied as he nodded to the book Wesley was toying with. "Which is why I keep a copy of something more interesting at hand."
Wesley looked down at the book under his fingers. Watcher diaries. "I love these," he said softly, unsure what had prompted the admission and feeling oddly embarrassed by it.
The man leaned back in his chair, studying Wesley. His gaze made Wesley's stomach flip again, as did that small smile that still hadn't left his lips. Realizing he'd probably been staring at the man's mouth, Wesley looked back to the Watcher diaries underneath his fingers, trying hard not to die of embarrassment.
"Will you be writing your own, one day?" The man asked and Wesley looked up again, smiling in response and shrugging.
"My father wants me to," he said, which was all there was to say on the matter.
"Yes," the man said softly, sighing as he reached out and ran his fingers along the spine of one of the diaries. His expression was different now, slightly sad, but not just that. It was too complex for Wesley to read, but he didn't like that the man had stopped smiling. "So does mine."
Wanting to lift the melancholy mood that had slipped over them, Wesley flailed for something to say, anything. "Folsan's written a much better account of the uprising. I'm not supposed to have read it, my father thinks Folsan's a . . ." Wesley blushed, remembering the names he'd heard his father call the man. "Umm, well, he doesn't like Folsan."
The man laughed at that. Not as if he was laughing at Wesley, but just laughing because he found something funny. His eyes sparkled with it and Wesley couldn't help but smile wider. He wanted to do it again, make the man laugh that way, but he wasn't sure what to say.
"Well, then I must disagree--" the man began, only to be cut off by another clipped voice.
"Wesley." Wesley jumped, turning to look at his father with wide, mortified eyes. "Come along. It's time to leave." His father wasn't looking at him, but rather at the man to whom Wesley had been talking. The expression on his father's face was cold, disdainful, and Wesley felt his gut drop into his feet.
"Okay," he said softly, his eyes skittering to the man, who no longer looked amused. The smile had left his face, his eyes weren't cold though, but sad and tired. Wesley forced his eyes away and went to stand beside his father, who put a guiding hand on his back and pushed him toward the library doors, turning away from the man without even a word to him.
"Do you know who that is?" Roger said, his voice icy. Wesley shook his head, aware that the man could still hear them. "That is Rupert Giles and you are to stay away from that reprobate. Do you hear me?"
Wesley nodded, as was expected, but he couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder, trying to judge how his father's words had affected the man, Rupert. Rupert seemed to have been looking at Wesley's father, then, as if sensing Wesley's gaze, his eyes flicked over to meet Wesley's. The small smile reappeared and Rupert winked at him.
Wesley's stomach flipped hard and he quickly tore his gaze away from Rupert, looking straight ahead and letting his father push him out of the library. Rupert Giles. Wesley smiled to himself, keeping his head down so his father wouldn't see.
Prompt: Write an alternate universe version of the first time Giles and Wesley meet.
The Council's library was the largest Wesley had ever seen. He'd loved it from the moment he'd stepped into it when he was eight, but it couldn't hold his interest just then. He turned sixteen today and to celebrate the occasion his father had brought him to Council Headquarters and promptly forgotten about him. Only two hours had passed since he'd arrived, but it felt as if he'd been there for days.
Sitting in an alcove, Wesley stared at the books he'd tried to read; one after another after another had failed to interest him. He felt jittery, restless. Putting aside Jorcenio's treatise on rare demon breeds, Wesley stood and slumped off to look for something, anything, that might keep him occupied while he waited. He walked through shelves that stretched high above his head, breathing in the calming scent of dust and fragile pages.
He wandered away from the books and into the stacks where the Watcher diaries were kept. These were his favorites to read, filled with tales of other watchers, with stories about the Slayers they'd trained and commanded. It made Wesley feel part of something, part of something that stretched back into the past and would continue for forever.
His eyes on the books, Wesley stumbled to a halt when they fell away. He found himself in a research area, three long tables and many chairs taking up the space. All of the numerous chairs were empty, accept one. A man sat, hunched over a book. Wesley didn't think he'd ever seen the man before, which wasn't unusual. As often as he'd visited the library while his father tended to work that couldn't wait, Wesley usually kept to himself.
His father didn't approve of pointless socializing. Beyond that, most of the people Wesley's own age didn't hang around the Council Headquarters unless they were busy with their studies. This man was older than Wesley, late twenties or early thirties and he was the only other person Wesley had seen since coming into the library.
The man sighed, pushing his book away. Wesley watched as he removed his glasses and rubbed at his tried eyes, stretching his limbs. Catching sight of him, the man's green-brown eyes met Wesley's blue ones. He smiled kindly and Wesley felt a frisson of . . . something dart through his belly and skitter embarrassingly lower.
"Uh, hi," Wesley said weakly, feeling an utter git for not being more articulate, more . . . anything.
"Hello. Can I help you with something?" The man's voice reminded Wesley of warm things and Wesley's stomach fluttered. God, was he blushing? Stupid, stupid.
Trying to shrug off his reaction and gather his wits enough to say something clever, Wesley finally settled on 'No, but I could probably help you. I know this library well enough.'
Unfortunately, what came out of his mouth was, "No." The man raised an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently. He seemed to think Wesley expected something from him. "What are you reading?"
The man gave a snort of laughter and looked at his book. There was a small smile on his face when he looked back to Wesley. "The most boring account of the Garkinish Uprising that has ever been written."
Finally in territory he knew, Wesley's felt his tension ease a little. "Oh. Kelser?"
The man blinked in obvious surprise, his eyes widening and his smile growing a little. "Yes. Exactly. The man really doesn't know when to shut up."
Wesley ducked his head again, though it was pleasure that caused the reaction this time. "I read him last year," Wesley offered, moving to stand by the edge of the research table, fiddling with the other books stacked there. "His conclusions are clearly fallacious."
"Clearly. As well as long winded and dry as old toast." The man replied as he nodded to the book Wesley was toying with. "Which is why I keep a copy of something more interesting at hand."
Wesley looked down at the book under his fingers. Watcher diaries. "I love these," he said softly, unsure what had prompted the admission and feeling oddly embarrassed by it.
The man leaned back in his chair, studying Wesley. His gaze made Wesley's stomach flip again, as did that small smile that still hadn't left his lips. Realizing he'd probably been staring at the man's mouth, Wesley looked back to the Watcher diaries underneath his fingers, trying hard not to die of embarrassment.
"Will you be writing your own, one day?" The man asked and Wesley looked up again, smiling in response and shrugging.
"My father wants me to," he said, which was all there was to say on the matter.
"Yes," the man said softly, sighing as he reached out and ran his fingers along the spine of one of the diaries. His expression was different now, slightly sad, but not just that. It was too complex for Wesley to read, but he didn't like that the man had stopped smiling. "So does mine."
Wanting to lift the melancholy mood that had slipped over them, Wesley flailed for something to say, anything. "Folsan's written a much better account of the uprising. I'm not supposed to have read it, my father thinks Folsan's a . . ." Wesley blushed, remembering the names he'd heard his father call the man. "Umm, well, he doesn't like Folsan."
The man laughed at that. Not as if he was laughing at Wesley, but just laughing because he found something funny. His eyes sparkled with it and Wesley couldn't help but smile wider. He wanted to do it again, make the man laugh that way, but he wasn't sure what to say.
"Well, then I must disagree--" the man began, only to be cut off by another clipped voice.
"Wesley." Wesley jumped, turning to look at his father with wide, mortified eyes. "Come along. It's time to leave." His father wasn't looking at him, but rather at the man to whom Wesley had been talking. The expression on his father's face was cold, disdainful, and Wesley felt his gut drop into his feet.
"Okay," he said softly, his eyes skittering to the man, who no longer looked amused. The smile had left his face, his eyes weren't cold though, but sad and tired. Wesley forced his eyes away and went to stand beside his father, who put a guiding hand on his back and pushed him toward the library doors, turning away from the man without even a word to him.
"Do you know who that is?" Roger said, his voice icy. Wesley shook his head, aware that the man could still hear them. "That is Rupert Giles and you are to stay away from that reprobate. Do you hear me?"
Wesley nodded, as was expected, but he couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder, trying to judge how his father's words had affected the man, Rupert. Rupert seemed to have been looking at Wesley's father, then, as if sensing Wesley's gaze, his eyes flicked over to meet Wesley's. The small smile reappeared and Rupert winked at him.
Wesley's stomach flipped hard and he quickly tore his gaze away from Rupert, looking straight ahead and letting his father push him out of the library. Rupert Giles. Wesley smiled to himself, keeping his head down so his father wouldn't see.